“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, champagne in one hand, strawberries in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and screaming ‘Woo hoo – what a ride!’”Marge sent me this quote in an e-mail awhile ago... it was a forward that tickled her that day. It's an apt description for how she seized life and squeezed out the last drops. There truly wasn't an idle moment in her day. There were always several books to read, a knitting project, a sketchpad, a project on the loom, an art exhibit, a perennial to plant, a movie to see, a concert to attend, a recipe to experiment with, a friend to meet, a dog to walk, a dinner date, a farmer's market to scour, a drawing class, a trip to plan, a new wine to drink... We all have our adventures with Marge to remember and we're all the better for them.
Margaret A. Skreko, age 66, passed away suddenly leaving a wide circle of friends and family. After spending her youth in Illinois, she married, residing briefly in Kalamazoo, MI and Philadelphia, PA. For the last 38 years Marge made Indianapolis a better place, and led a life well-lived. She raised a family and immersed herself in the community as a visual artist, teacher, passionate cultural arts patron, volunteer, savvy businesswoman, beloved friend and mother.
Marge graduated from Quincy (IL) High School and then Bradley University, receiving a degree in painting and art history. She pursued graduate studies at Western Michigan University and later at The Philadelphia College of Textiles and Science. Marge’s interest in texture re-directed her studies into textile design and weaving resulting in a career of more than 20 years as an exhibiting fiber artist.
Marge’s design line of hand-woven clothing sold through wholesale markets of the American Craft Council. She taught art and fibers in public schools, the Indianapolis Museum of Art and the Herron School of Art, and presented lectures and workshops throughout the country. After a foray into real estate brokering, Marge later designed colors, developed technical support and consumer education, published articles and created projects for Rit Dye, attaining Chairholder status in Color Marketing Group. A member of the Water Color Society of Indiana, Marge continued to draw and paint throughout her life, working in water media and making monoprints. Her work received many awards, was exhibited throughout the country and published in Quilting Arts Magazine. She also appeared in instructional DVDs and on PBS’s America Quilts and America Sews with Sue Hausmann. Her most recent show, presented by The Columbia Club Foundation in September 2009, was a solo exhibition of two-dimensional pieces inspired by recent roamings in the American southwest, South America, and Italy.
Marge’s interest in texture and fiber arts was a metaphor for her life. Masterful at weaving new friends with old, spinning threads of stimulating conversation, tending to and strengthening the connections, she ultimately crafted the warp and weft of warm friendships.
Books, food and the bond of friendship were the inspiration for Marge in founding the “Chili, Chowder and Spaghetti Literary Society”, and they've met every six weeks for 25 years. Intensely moved by classical music, Marge could always be found in thoughtful and expansive conversations after Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra concerts and Metropolitan Opera Theater broadcasts. An eager and ambitious traveler, she gathered inspiration from China, India, Turkey, North and South America, and Europe.
Marge was preceded in death by her husband, Frank Skreko. She is survived by her daughter Caroline Calnek; son-in-law David Calnek; three grandchildren, Charlotte, Rachel and Tucker Calnek of Atlanta, GA; her son Ted Skreko, a violinmaker in Indianapolis; and devoted, loving friends far and wide.
A memorial gathering will be held on Saturday, October 23 at 2 PM at her home. For details click here.
Tis a fearful thing by Chaim Stern
ReplyDeleteIt is a fearful thing to love
what death can touch.
A fearful thing to love,
hope, dream: to be --
to be, and oh! to lose.
A thing for fools this, and
a holy thing,
a holy thing to love.
For
your life has lived in me,
your laugh once lifted me,
your word was gift to me.
To remember this brings a painful joy.
'Tis a human thing, love,
a holy thing,
to love
what death has touched.
Marge was a new friend that I acquired through my daughter, Cathy. On trips to Indianapolis Marge would make sure I visited all the yarn and fabric stores I could. Of course, each one visited required a purchase. Every time I will wear one of the garments made from these purchases I will remember Marge. She truly was a friend I could talk to and share my thoughts. She always made me welcome no matter how long the time had been between visits. I will miss our talks and emails.
ReplyDeleteMarge was a powerhouse in the weaving world with her store in Broad Ripple, The Weaver's House, starting in the 1970s. She really supported me as I learned the business of weaving and her beautiful woven jackets inspired me.
ReplyDeleteWe lost touch as we each moved away from weaving as a major force in our lives, but her enthusiasm and charm will always remain.
Since more profound words of my own fail me, I like Marcel Proust’s. And it fits Marge… the world traveler. He wrote, “People do not die for us immediately, but remain bathed in a sort of aura of life which bears no relation to true immortality but through which they continue to occupy our thoughts in the same way as when they were alive. It is as though they were traveling abroad.”
ReplyDeleteI’ve busied myself with tasks over the last week to focus my sorrow as through a prism, hoping to disperse it, examine it, realize it. So, to deal with the end, I have found comfort in remembering the beginning. We were in the right place at the right time when we met Marge. Michael and I came to Indianapolis because he won a job in the orchestra. We didn’t have family here. And then we met Marge when we interviewed three real estate agents to help us buy our first house. She was introduced to us through a mutual friend. Even real estate was another sort of weaving project for Marge… putting people together with the right place, stringing one lead to another. We chose her on a gut feeling that she understood us. She was also much more interesting, with her love of music, books, theater, movies. And, she was hilarious when she broke down a house for you… she was the first person I heard say something was “so bad it was good again.” If you’re riding around in a car all day, walking through tons of houses, it should be with someone fun.
That was a big summer. Michael and I got pregnant, bought a house, and got married, all in about six weeks. And we met Marge, who brought us into her circle and helped us make Indianapolis home. That was the beginning.
Since then, Marge became a dear friend to me, a professional mentor, and family to all of us – Michael, Jake and Dana. I’m grateful to have had this very unique relationship in my life. And, I’m grateful for the memories of Marge that will stay with me. I know this is ultimately the way through the sorrow. So, I offer my enduring thanks to Marge… on whichever plane she’s traveling… for her heart, for being family.
Unfortunately, I'm late to the party, but tonight I feel sad that I never met the woman who would have been my mother-in-law. I missed you by only six months, Marge, and Ted tells me that you and I would have fun together. I think we would have talked about books, and climbing the Sir Walter Scott monument in Scotland. I'm still enjoying your battered old Scott novels to this day. You're missed, even by someone who didn't know you.
ReplyDeleteSaw your blog about Margaret and wanted you to know that I am now wearing a sweater she made many years ago. So warm. Don't know a where I bought it but glad I did. Thank you all for your memories about her. the sweater has her tag sand I wanted to know who she was, so I searched.
ReplyDeleteSorry about the misspellings.
ReplyDelete